


The Mechanics of Undoing

by Euterpe



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Anna and Elsa are Not Related (Disney), F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Minor Anna/Hans (Disney), Oblivious Anna (Disney), Slow Burn, Unrelated Anna/Elsa (Disney), more angst than fluff tbh, non-incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28536009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpe/pseuds/Euterpe
Summary: Anna Winters has a pretty good life. She's a junior analyst at a Wall Street consulting firm, her best friend is living out his dream at vet school in Washington, and she shares a charming apartment in Brooklyn with Hans, her hunky yet inattentive boyfriend since college. But an argument with Hans on the night of her 25th birthday sends her yearning for something else—maybe she should have made a different choice all those years ago.Enter a talking snowman and some crazy wish-fulfillment magic. Suddenly, Anna finds herself waking up five years in the past, in the bed of a girl she thought she'd lost forever.
Relationships: Anna & Kristoff (Disney), Anna/Elsa (Disney)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

Anna Winters is stepping off of the F train on her way home when her phone starts blasting Avril Lavigne and vibrating with the wrath of seven gods.

"Shit," she mutters, squeezing past a frazzled mother who is unsuccessfully trying to calm down her stroller of twins in Spanish. Anna turns around and mouths a _sorry_ at the mother and her twins, both for being pushy and for saying a no-no word in front of impressionable children. 

Anna pauses at the base of the exit stairs to dig through her bulging Kate Spade purse, shoving past lunch receipts and gum wrappers until she feels her phone buzz angrily against her fingertips. She fishes it out and answers the call without even glancing at the screen. There is only one person with that Avril Lavigne ringtone set on her phone. "Kristoff," she says, slightly winded.

"Happy birthday, loser," Kristoff tells her with all the enthusiasm of a high schooler on a part-time job. A dog howls in the background of his call.

"Thanks, Krusty. Aren't you still in rounds or rotations or whatever?" Anna cradles the phone between her ear and her shoulder, attempting to zip her purse back up.

"Lunch break."

"At..." Anna briefly takes the phone off her shoulder to check the time. It's nearly 6:30pm in New York. "...3:30?"

Kristoff sighs. "The surgery we were performing on this horse had some complications, so we had to take care of that. Haven't had a chance to breathe until now."

"Isn't your animal hospital in Seattle? Like, the city part of Seattle?"

"Honey, no. It's really not. Also, treating horses is literally part of my curriculum."

Anna laughs. "What can I say, geography isn't my strong point." She shoulders her bag and begins heading up the stairs out into the Brooklyn streets. Leaves on the few scraggly trees that separate the road from the line of brownstones are turning orange, like ripe sweet potatoes or the color of Anna's hair. Even though her last name is Winters, Anna would always say her favorite season is fall. Her birthday being in October definitely helps. "So," she says, "did you call me in the middle of your horse rescue adventures because you missed my beautiful voice? Because if that's the only reason, I don't blame you."

"The horse is doing fine now, thank you for asking. And don't let your head get too big. I'm only calling because you should expect, ahem, a certain package at your door, like, now."

"Aw, Kristoff! You didn't have to."

"You're right, I didn't have to. Are you checking right now?"

"Dude, chill." Anna looks both ways before jay-walking across the street. "I'm on my way home from work. I'll get there in like, two minutes."

"Speaking of your corporate zombie job, how's that going?"

"The official title's Junior Business Analyst, excuse you. And it's going well." Anna had only been at her company for less than a year, but she didn't feel like she was drowning every day or that she was hated by all her colleagues, which were both good things in her book. "Jasmine and Ariel—I might have mentioned them to you, Ariel's the one who tried to eat a Keurig pod—they invited me to drinks tonight for my birthday, but you know how I'm supposed to have dinner with Hans tonight, so I couldn't go."

"That's if he doesn't bail on you, knowing Hans."

Anna ascends the steps to her building. "Yeah, well. At least I have a boyfriend. Where's yours, playboy?" She forces the front door open with a practiced shove.

"What are you talking about, so many boys are after me. They're just too shy to say so. I think it's the perpetual wet dog smell that intimidates them."

"Ha ha." She picks up the squishy parcel sitting in front of her apartment door. It's about the length and width of her forearm. "I got your package. What is this thing?"

Kristoff ignores her question. "Great, open it."

Anna flicks on the lights of her apartment, tossing her keys onto the counter and stepping out of her heels. She sets her purse onto a bar stool and drapes her blazer over it. She examines the package more closely in the overhead light of her living room. Sure enough, it's addressed to her, but the sending address is from somewhere in Nevada. She puts Kristoff on speakerphone and sets him on her coffee table. "Is this something I need a glass of wine for?" she asks.

"Oh my god, just open it."

Anna opens it. She punctures the top with a chipped fingernail—gosh, she should really repaint them—and pulls out an alarmingly red wool sweater. "Kristoff, what the hell," she says. It's so bright it could probably stop traffic. On the front is a creepy embroidered cartoon reindeer, with the words "REINDEER ARE BETTER THAN PEOPLE" underneath in large white font.

"It's custom-made by this very nice lady on Etsy. Now you can match me and Sven on Christmas," Kristoff replies.

Anna thinks of poor Sven and his dopey grin. "First, why would you subject your dog to this abuse? Second of all, Christmas is in like two months."

"The whole point of sending it in advance is so you can wear it on Christmas Day, when I give you your actual Christmas present. You know how postal service is around the holidays," Kristoff explains slowly, like she's a child in need of tutelage.

Geez, the reindeer even has disturbingly human teeth. Anna shudders. "Thanks. I hate it."

Kristoff cackles. "Love you too. Happy 25th," he sing-songs. "Don't make quarter-life-crisis decisions without consulting me."

Anna feels a smile slowly spread across her face. Then her phone buzzes against the coffee table. "Someone's texting me."

"Welp, guess that's my cue to leave. You know, before I collapse from all the praises you're showering on me."

"Yeah, go save a horse or whatever. Thank you, Kristoff." They say their goodbyes, and the line goes dead. 

She stares at the cursed reindeer sweater for a few more seconds. There are zero ways she could make it look remotely good. She looks at the reindeer's saucer eyes and clown nose and horrible, horrible human teeth, and it's exactly something Kristoff would choose for her. Her phone buzzes again, reminding her of unread messages. She picks it up and unlocks it.

_Hans: Hey babe I know we had dinner plans tonight but my team is doing this bonding thing and we're going to the Mets game_

_Hans: I didn't want to miss the dinner but going to this thing could put me in better standing with my boss so it's really important to my career_

_Hans: They're all guys you know like Phil and Naveen_

_Hans: Hope you understand_

_Hans: Sorry babe I'll make it up to you  
_

_Hans: Happy birthday_

Anna places her phone face-down on the table. A deep tidal wave of resignation washes over her, and she releases her hair from its bun, letting it sweep over her shoulders like a frizzy curtain. She would be lying if she said she was surprised, but she would also be lying if she claimed she wasn't hoping that this time would be better, that this time he would care. How typical. She swipes at the prickling inside corners of her eyes with the heel of her right palm. This is definitely something she needs a glass of wine for.

***

One hour and three glasses of wine later, Anna's pawing through her old school stuff in the bedroom closet, where she's sure she has a cupcake tin somewhere. She's pulled on an apron over Kristoff's reindeer sweater, which she ended up wearing despite her disgust because it's warm and fuzzy and makes her feel less alone.

There's a mixing bowl full of chocolate cake batter waiting for her on the kitchen counter. She hasn't done this in so long—the last time she baked was before she moved into this apartment with Hans, probably last year when she was living with her parents while finishing up her MBA at Penn State. Her parents had called her half an hour ago wishing her a happy birthday, and by then she was already tipsy. Her heavy disappointment threatened to spill out when her mom's tired voice and her stepdad's throaty chuckle crackled through the phone, but she held it all in and channeled it into an almost forgotten pastime.

Anna accidentally bumps her head against the closet wall in her fumbling and sees stars for a terrifying moment. Her vision unblurs, and with a sudden clarity she realizes it's nearly 8:00 and she hasn't even prepared dinner, nor has she made the effort to order takeout. She grunts and continues searching. She's not a kid anymore, so she's legally allowed to occasionally eat cupcakes for dinner.

She groggily reaches into yet another cardboard box—yikes, maybe she has a hoarding problem—and grasps something soft. She draws her hand back and comes face-to-face with a snowman plush she hasn't seen in five years.

His name is Olaf, and he likes warm hugs. He's yellowed slightly, more cream than white now, and his felt arms are bent at awkward angles. His orange carrot-shaped nose protrudes as proudly as ever, if a little squashed, and his buck teeth are jovially set in his lopsided grin. Whoever created him, whoever sewed in his mismatched eyes and uneven buttons and three pitiful hairs, was clearly unfamiliar with making plushes. Yet it's obvious that immense care was funneled into each of his stitches, that hours or days were spent clumsily spinning him into creation.

Anna remembers the day she received Olaf as plainly as it was yesterday. She extends a trembling hand into the cardboard box again. Out comes a single photograph of herself and another face she hasn't seen in five years.

It's a selfie of Anna and a blonde girl smiling against the snowy backdrop of Arendelle University, taken during the early spring semester of Anna's sophomore year. Anna has her arm around the other girl, their cheeks almost touching with the width of their smiles. Anna doesn't smile like that in pictures anymore, with squinted eyes and lips straining to contain her bared molars. She and the girl stand next to a lumpy pile of snow decorated with twigs and pebbles, an elementary attempt at a snowman that would melt as quickly as they built it. They wear matching scarves, but with the camera angle and the color it looks like they're sharing the same one.

A terrible ache pierces through Anna's chest like a searing poker as she continues to stare at the picture. Her head feels heavy, as if she's been forced underwater and viscous liquid has clogged her brain. She realizes that the wetness clouding her vision is tears, and finally, _finally_ she lets herself cry.

Her mouth forms silently around the two syllables of this beautiful girl's name, a girl whose face she'll always be able to pick out from a crowd, whose laugh her ears will always recognize. 

Elsa.

***

It's around 2am when Hans finally comes home. Anna had already fallen asleep on the sofa, curled around Olaf underneath the shaggy tan throw blanket they keep in the living room. She blinks awake at the sound of the door opening to Netflix asking her if she's still watching, the harsh LED of the TV glaring upon her through the darkness. She left half a tin of chocolate cupcakes on the counter—they were more like muffins since she didn't have frosting to decorate them—and a quarter bottle of wine on the coffee table. 

She hears Hans's footsteps tiptoe around her, but she doesn't lift her head. She watches his arm reach over her head and grab the remote. He reeks of tobacco.

"I thought you said you were going to quit," she says, fracturing the cold silence.

"Jesus Christ, Anna." Hans's silhouette shifts to sit on the armrest next to her head. He sets down the remote without turning off the TV. "I thought you were asleep."

Anna pushes herself onto her elbows and looks at him. In the dim light of the TV, his face is haggard, his beard a sullen shadow against his face and neck. The first two buttons of his shirt are undone, and his collar is popped. Anna swallows. "You didn't answer me," she presses.

"I was just...smoking one with the boys. You know how it is, if you don't smoke or drink with them, they don't see you as one of them."

 _I didn't know your pharmaceutical engineer team was a college frat_ , Anna wants to say. Instead, she says, "Right."

Hans pulls something out of his pants pocket. "Look, I'm sorry I missed your birthday dinner. I know it was important to you." He sets the item down on the coffee table. "So I got you something. I remembered you said you ran out yesterday."

Anna squints at the gift. It's...a pack of razors. From the drugstore. And not even the brand Anna uses either—she knows for a fact that the razors Hans bought are around $5 cheaper than the ones she normally buys for herself.

"Hans, not that I don't appreciate this—I do—and I know this is my first birthday we've spent together after long distance, but...is this it?"

He stiffens. "What do you mean?"

"It's just, I don't know, I'm not expecting you to spend a lot of money on a gift, and I don't want you to if you're not comfortable with it. But like, I felt pretty alone tonight when I wanted to feel special, and if you were gonna give me a gift I wish you put more thought into it? Something that, you know, maybe I wasn't going to buy myself in the first place."

Hans blinks at her. "For example?"

"Um, maybe like the audiobook subscription I got you for your birthday so you'd have something to listen to during the commute to Jersey."

"Anna, I don't really use that subscription anymore." He inclines his head neutrally towards the television. "And you know I don't exactly have the money to spend on things that aren't useful. But I guess it's different for you, since money isn't as much of a problem."

Anna sucks in a breath. Frustration rushes up her throat like stomach acid. "Hans, you know my salary is only around $7,000 higher than yours," she says incredulously, "and we're both entry-level professionals living in freaking New York City. Believe me, I think money is an issue for both of us. But you're totally missing the point."

Hans's expression is stony in the blue light. "No, I don't think I am. I'm literally trying so hard to get promoted because I want more money to support us, and that means we should also save our money for things we actually need. So I'm sorry for trying to make things better for us."

"Hans—"

"I don't want to talk about this right now." He stands up, glaring down at her. "Come to bed, Anna. Don't sleep here in that ugly sweater. We can discuss in the morning."

"No thanks," Anna hisses. She crosses her arms protectively over her sweater. She's sitting up now, staring him eye-to-eye. 

"Why not? Is it because we're fighting right now? It's not good to end the night angry, you know."

"It's because you smell like tobacco." Anna grinds her teeth together. Once again, her eyes begin to sting with hot tears, and she blinks against them.

"I'll shower—"

"Just go to bed, Hans. I'm already on the couch anyway. Might as well stay here." Anna jerks away from him and shrugs underneath the blanket, lying on her side to face the back of the sofa. Hans continues to watch her for a minute with even breaths. She waits until his footsteps exit the living room, the bedroom door closes, and the bathroom tap begins running before she lets angry tears stream horizontally across her nose bridge. 

She tries to tell herself that this is not the Hans she knows, the man she's dated for the past five years. It's futile. Ever since college he's been this way, and Anna had been so thoroughly deluded with heartbreak at the time that she never noticed, or she just ignored the signs. Maybe she didn't even care. But she'd stuck with Hans even as they both moved on after graduation, Anna to business school in Pennsylvania and Hans to his first job in New York. They did the long distance, they did the breaking up and getting back together. And now here they are, at the "next step" of their relationship, basically ready to start a family in an overpriced Brooklyn apartment. 

And for whose benefit are they still together at this point? Is it Anna's? She's living through the worn-down trope of college sweethearts who move to the city. Soon they'll probably get married, relocate to the suburbs, talk about having kids. The thought of marrying Hans stirs a bout of uneasiness in her gut. Is that what she really wants? Maybe she's still with Hans because she's grown used to his company. Maybe making him coffee every morning and coming home to Domino's pizza on his days to cook and watching late-night talk shows with him have become easy to her, comfortable. 

Anna wonders when she became a girl who prefers things that are easy or comfortable. Her past self would be so disappointed with her. Elsa would probably be disappointed in her too, if she knew.

God, Elsa.

Anna falls asleep clutching Olaf to her chest, thinking of wide-eyed snowmen and platinum blonde hair.

***

"Psst. Anna. Wake up."

Something flimsy pokes Anna in the left cheek. She slowly opens her eyes. "What—"

She's floating in a vast whiteness. It's like being in a sci-fi movie, with blank space extending as far as the eye can see, or a dream. Yes, it must be a dream, because hovering in front of her is a certain snowman plush, very much alive and very much talking to her in a squeaky tenor voice. "Anna, hi! You're awake! Wow, this is so exciting." Olaf's misshapen eyes blink at her, one at a time.

"Are you shitting me right now?"

"No, silly. I'm Olaf, and I—"

"—like warm hugs," Anna finishes for him. She looks him up and down, at his wiggling feet and his expectant smile, and the ache comes back in full force, squeezing her insides like Play-Dough. She smiles back. "Hi, Olaf."

"Hi, Anna! Oh wait, I think I said that already." Olaf scratches his chin with a surprisingly stable twig hand—does he have opposable thumbs?—as if he's sorting through his memories. "Anyway, it's great to finally talk to you! I've waited so long for this. I've been living in the bottom of that box for most of my life, and I've made friends with all the mothballs and dust bunnies. Did you know dust bunnies aren't actually bunnies? I don't know why they call them that."

Heavy guilt drags down Anna's head. "I'm sorry."

"Well, don't be! Because today we finally got to meet each other again, and it was your birthday too! It was super fun, especially when you told me about the Crust Off guy and his horse rescue squad. I hope you don't mind I stole a bit of your cupcake. It was really delicious!"

Anna shakes her head fondly. "Olaf..."

"Anyway, you looked super sad when you found me today. I hope I helped you feel less lonely. That's what I'm here for, you know?"

"Thank you, Olaf. You've been doing great."

"But...?" His animated eyebrows crease together.

"But..." She takes a shuddering breath. "I mean, everything else in my life is going well. I like my job, my coworkers are cool, Kristoff's a good bro, I love the city. I just feel stuck in this... _thing_ with Hans. I wish things could have gone differently, maybe. Or that I made different choices." Anna reaches out and smooths over the three hairs sprouting from Olaf's head. "It's just—I miss her. She was the best thing in my life, and I screwed it all up. And now there's no way I'll get her back."

Olaf nods sagely. "You really loved her, huh?"

"Of course I did. She was my best friend."

"Mhm." Olaf gives her a blank look.

Anna stares back at him artlessly.

"Well," he continues, "I don't think it's too late."

Anna laughs. It comes out like a honk. "I don't know, Olaf. It kinda is."

"Oh Anna." He drifts closer and hugs her. His tiny arms barely encompass the front of her waist. Anna pats the back of his ovular head. "It hurts me to see you like this," he mutters into her sweater. "You don't know what's going to happen, do you?"

Anna freezes. "I—what?"

"What if I told you there was a way to see how things could have gone differently?" He floats backward in a fluid motion, gesturing widely. "What if there was a way to make different choices?"

"Um, I don't know. I wouldn't even know what to say."

"Don't worry, you'll see real soon. Think of it as a birthday gift, from me to you." He flies in circles around her, performing somersaults mid-air. "Oooooh, this is so thrilling! I can feel it in my non-existent bones!"

"Olaf, wait—" Small white flurries begin swirling around her legs, sticking to her clothes as howling wind whips her hair. Snowflakes, she realizes. They travel up her torso, refreshingly cold. Olaf's voice penetrates through the chaos.

"You have to give me permission to send you back," he says, at a surprisingly normal volume. "Do you want this, Anna?"

Anna closes her eyes. She thinks about Kristoff and his gruff love, eking out his well-deserved place at vet school in Washington. She thinks about her job on Wall Street, where she finally feels useful and her team gathers around Jasmine's desk during lunch breaks to tease each other. She thinks about her parents in Pennsylvania, supporting her unconditionally through each of her legitimate and not-so-legitimate decisions. 

Then she thinks about Hans, sleeping alone in their queen-sized bed, probably without even changing into pajamas. It dawns on her that they barely talk anymore. Their interactions have been reduced to "we're out of bread" or "the toilet's clogged" or "for the last time, can you not leave your socks on the floor?" Even on the nights they spend together in front of David Letterman or Conan O'Brien, they're in silence but for a few of Hans's chuckles interspersed here or there. And even those kinds of evenings have become rare. Last night was one of the first meaningful conversations they've had for a long time, and even then they were repeating the same things they'd argued about before, the same disagreement repackaged in different wrapping paper.

She thinks about Elsa. They haven't talked in years, but Anna still remembers the sound of her voice, humming along to a made-up tune at the stove or giggling at one of Anna's dumb jokes. She thinks about Elsa in the stands at Anna's tennis matches, always cheering the loudest even though everyone had pegged her as a quiet sort of girl. She thinks about the day they built that snowman in Anna's sophomore year, about how Elsa spent twenty minutes searching for the right sticks to use as its arms.

Anna opens her eyes. "Yes."

"Awesome," Olaf's lucid voice says. "I'll come get you when you're ready."

The snowflakes coalesce into a mighty blizzard. A gust lifts Anna through the space, filling her every pore with levity. She is a feather, a cloud, a helium balloon. Her vision goes white.

***

Anna comes to on a lumpy mattress with her back pressed against a frigid wall. Her right arm is thrown around someone's soft midsection, her left arm pinned in the space between their bodies. She inhales deeply, which is a mistake, because the indisputable scent of rose shampoo—the kind she's avoided for years—wafts into her nose. She opens her eyes and finds herself staring at the back of a blonde head, the distinctive French braid partially coming undone. Morning sunlight beams through the slats of the window blinds above them, shining soft stripes over golden hair.

If this is still a dream, it's a damn realistic one.

Anna must have accidentally shifted or something because the girl she's holding begins to stir underneath her arm. Anna's heart pounds with the force of five elephants, and she swallows the grapefruit-sized lump in her throat. The golden head turns around to face her, and she's met with pale blue eyes that are forever burned into her memory.

"Happy 20th birthday, babe," Elsa says, like absolutely nothing is wrong and Anna hadn't just time-traveled five years to the past.


	2. Chapter 2

"Uh?" It's probably not the most intelligent first thing she could say to an ex-best friend whom she hasn't spoken to in five years, but it's the best Anna can do when she's confronted with an unforgettably beautiful face who calls her _babe_.

"What, did you forget your own birthday?" Elsa lifts a cool hand to Anna's forehead, which she's sure is the color of a tomato, as if checking for a fever. "Guess that means you don't want the present I got you."

"P-present?"

"Yeah." Elsa retracts her hand—Anna immediately rues the loss of contact—and shuffles around, reaching underneath her bed for something. While this is happening, Anna recognizes that they're in Elsa's bedroom in the apartment they shared since Anna's sophomore and Elsa's junior year. The room is small but cozy, tidy without feeling sterile. On the far wall is an abstract painting of blues and greens that Elsa bought at the local flea market a year ago, and on another wall is a smattering of photographs neatly arranged in a rectangle. Elsa's laptop sits half-open on her bedside table, and Anna figures they were probably watching a movie the night before when she fell asleep—or at least when her past self fell asleep.

Elsa pulls out the gift from a storage bin and hides it behind her back. She sits up to face Anna.

"You have to promise not to laugh."

Anna already feels a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It's so easy to fall back into familiar patterns with Elsa, like slipping on warm pair of socks. "Why would I _ever_ —"

"Just promise me. Please?"

"Okay, I promise I won't laugh."

Sure enough, Elsa presents her with a newer version of the snowman plush Anna-from-the-future had seen in her dreams. His fabric is lighter and his nose looks less deflated, but his head and arms are still floppy and his smile is 100% the same. "Hi, I'm Olaf, and I like warm hugs," Elsa lowers her voice an octave to say, moving the snowman's thin arms up and down to mirror the cadence of her words. "Elsa made me so you never have to feel alone. Do you want to be my friend?"

Anna melts. The ache from the future rushes back into her, clogging up her chest cavity. A stinging sensation fills the inside of her nose, and tears slip down her cheeks before she can help herself. She brings her hand underneath her nostrils and sniffles.

Elsa gazes at her with concern. "Oh my god, is it that bad?" she asks in her normal pitch. "I guess I never said you couldn't cry, but this..."

"Yes! I'll be your friend, Olaf!" Without thinking, Anna throws her arms around Elsa, pressing their bodies close together and squishing Olaf between them. She buries her face against Elsa's neck, breathing in the scents of rose shampoo and fabric softener, reveling in the solidness of the body within her grasp. Whatever weirdly realistic dream this is, she doesn't want to ever wake up from it. "I love him," she whispers. "Thank you, Elsa." _And thank you, Olaf, for bringing her back to me_.

Elsa hugs her with sturdy arms. "Thank god, I was ready to crawl under the bed and die if you didn't like him. 'Course, I would have also bought you a different present, but it's the principle of it." She pulls back a bit to look Anna in the eyes. "If you were wondering why the snowman, it's, um, from the time we built that snowman last semester, and it melted in like a day? I, uh, promised I would make you a more permanent one, so here he is, although he's kind of wonky."

"Elsa, you don't have to explain yourself to me. I remember. He's perfect."

And he is, but what's more perfect is the way Elsa's smile lights up her whole face, like the sun chasing away a thunderstorm.

Anna leaves her left hand fisted in Elsa's t-shirt as she drinks in this sight she's been deprived of for five years. Again, if this is a dream, her subconscious is eerily good at reconstructing Elsa's facial features. Her button nose, the curve of her jaw, the light dusting of freckles over her cheekbones. Anna can even see the parts of her irises that are more orange than blue. Elsa fidgets under the scrutiny, and after a beat of silence, she looks down at Anna's arm, the one attached to the hand still buried in her shirt.

"Just making sure," Elsa says quietly, "but we're still going to the Theta party tonight, right?"

"The Theta party?"

"Yeah." She lifts her head back up and blinks. "You know, the one you've been excited about for the past two weeks. The one you said you were glad for because it means you can go out on your birthday?"

Anna holds her gaze blankly. Then it hits her. "Right, shit. The party." She begins to feel the gravity of this thing, whatever it is, that Olaf has given her.

On the night of her 20th birthday—tonight, she supposes—Elsa and Anna had gone to a frat party. It was the night they had both met Hans for the first time. It would also be the night that sent her relationship with Elsa on a downward-spiraling path of no return.

Anna tries to remember what Hans had been like as a junior in college. He would be very much the same as a young professional, but in college he was more effortlessly charming, affable, cleaner. He was bullheaded in his pursuit of academics and women. Anna looks at the thin fabric of Elsa's t-shirt still bunched up in her fist, then at Elsa's delicate face. The decision is stupidly easy. She would not get back the one thing she thought she had lost forever only to have it ripped away again.

"You know what, I'm not really feeling the party anymore. Maybe we should take it easy tonight. You, me, another movie, hot chocolate, Korean face masks?"

Elsa squints, like she's having trouble reading her. "Look, Anna, I know you're only saying that for my sake. I appreciate that, I really do. But I don't hate going out as much as you think I do, so please don't feel like you have to pretend for me." She gently pries Anna's hand off her shirt and laces their fingers together. "Tonight's _your_ night, okay? I want whatever you want, even if it's a loud, sticky, hormonal cesspool of shitty beer and shittier men."

"Wow, you're really not helping your own case right now." They laugh. "But I mean it. What I want is a quiet night in with my best friend. What's so wrong with me wanting spend more one-on-one time with you?"

"We literally spent all of last night together, and you spent two of those hours telling me how Theo James's eyebrows should have a starring role on their own 24-episode TV show."

"Oh my god, stop."

Elsa gives their joined hands a squeeze and softens even more, if that's possible. "Anna, are you sure?"

Anna nods vigorously. "One-thousand percent."

"Okay. Well, I've got no complaints, so."

Five years of distance and pain ebb away. Excitement bubbles up Anna's throat like champagne. She's 20 again, a college student with her whole life ahead of her, and tonight she'll get to be with her most important person. The Elsa-sized hole in her heart she's been ignoring all this time is finally, _finally_ starting to patch itself up. She pulls Elsa into another bone-crushing hug simply because she can.

Elsa laughs tenderly into her right ear. "Not that I'm not enjoying this, but you should probably start getting ready, or else you'll miss your 10am."

"What?" The analog alarm clock on Elsa's bedside table indicates that it's close to 9:30.

A crease forms in Elsa's brow as she leans back to examine Anna's face. "Babe, are you okay? You've been acting kind of strange all morning."

The term of endearment strikes her again like a surge of ice water. "I'm fine," Anna sputters. "Birthday jitters, you know? Ha." Elsa doesn't look convinced. "I just—what day is it?"

"Your birthday?"

"Elsa."

"It's Friday. Did you forget we still have class?"

Anna groans.

**

Anna's brain finally catches up to her in the bathroom when she remembers that she and Elsa used to call each other "babe" in a totally platonic, best-friends sort of way. Yes, they were _those_ kinds of people.

Anna and Hans have been calling each other "babe" throughout their relationship too, but something feels fundamentally different about it. When Hans calls her "babe", they're keeping up a pretense, referring to each other by a title expected of their five-year relationship status. But each time Elsa had called her "babe" this morning, the syllable had slipped so naturally from her perfect lips and nestled into Anna's chest, like it belonged there, like it was a secret only for the two of them. 

Anna splashes water on her face before she can think more about it. She opens the medicine cabinet behind the mirror—she sure hopes she remembers whose products are whose—and chooses a peach cleanser that looks like something she would have used as a teenager. When she closes the mirror, she gets the opportunity to really examine herself for the first time since she was plopped into this strange alternate reality. Her hair is parted into twin-tail braids, a style she hasn't worn since graduation, unraveling and frizzy from sleeping in them the night before. Her face is slimmer, eye bags not so prominent—years of sleeping late and a lax exercise regimen had caused her figure to soften as she aged towards her mid-twenties. Anna was on the club tennis team in college, so she flexes her arms experimentally. Sure enough, her arms feel tighter against the short sleeves of her sleep shirt, her right bicep slightly bigger than the left. She feels leaner, more energetic. Maybe she should start running again if she ever returns to the future.

She finishes up in the bathroom and slips out into the hallway. Thankfully, Elsa is still getting ready in her room, so Anna avoids another awkward confrontation and scurries into her own room, the location of which she remembers plainly. She closes the door behind her, and wow—she was a lot messier in college. Clothes are strewn haphazardly across the limited floor space. She steps over a tennis racket and a single red Converse shoe as she picks her way to the closet. It's a good thing her fashion sense hasn't changed much, although she does spot some questionable items in this collection that she would end up donating later in life.

After she chooses an acceptable outfit, Anna suddenly realizes that a) she doesn't know remember what or where her 10am class is, and b) she doesn't remember anything about her class schedule during her junior year fall semester at all. "Shit," she mutters, sinking into her too-squishy bed. _Okay, Winters, this is no time to panic_. She quickly runs through the list of options. She never kept a planner of her schedule in college, so that's out of the question. Elsa seems to know Anna's schedule better that she does, but asking Elsa would risk arousing more well-meaning suspicion, so she nixes that one as well. She thinks back through all the people she knew as a junior who could potentially help. There might be one person whom she trusts who is unlikely to be in class right now...

Anna springs up and clambers to her desk, where a smartphone is charging. She picks it up—god, an iPhone 5—and unlocks it, immensely grateful that she uses the same passcode for everything. She scrolls through her list of contacts and dials the number she was looking for. _Please pick up please pick up please pick up..._ The dial tone rings four times until a click sounds, and she's greeted by a deeply annoyed voice. "Anna, what the hell. I could've been in class, you know."

Anna lets out a relieved breath. "Kristoff, don't bullshit me. I know for a fact you don't go to classes before noon." If there's one thing Anna remembers about Kristoff in college, he pretty much coasted through undergrad by borrowing notes and pulling all-nighters, but he would eventually get his shit together during vet school.

A brief silence passes on the line, and Anna begins to doubt the accuracy of her memory. Then Kristoff laughs. "Yeah, you got me. I was watching Smosh videos in bed. What do you want?"

"Okay, I need your help. Something weird happened to me, and I promise I'll explain later, so just do me a favor, alright?"

"Why isn't this something you can ask Elsa? Did you guys get in a fight? Are you trying to set her up with her hot TA?" A gasp. "You're pregnant with her TA's baby."

"No, ew, shut up." Anna pinches the bridge of her nose. "It's a weird selective memory loss thing, um—do you know where my first class is?"

A heavy pause. "Is this a test?"

"Kristoff, I'm being serious. I—I really can't remember."

"Uh...again, why isn't this something you can ask Elsa?"

"I said I'll explain later!"

"Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, no, I have no flippin' clue where your class is. Can't you just check your class schedule online?"

Right. Anna had totally forgotten about that. Huffing, she slides into her chair, opens her laptop, navigates to her student login, and... "I forgot my school account password," she hisses. Stupid outdated school login system that makes students change their passwords every three months. At the bottom of the page is a line that helpfully tells her she can _visit the IT office in person_ to request a password reset. The clock on her screen tells her it's 9:47. She's on the verge of tearing her hair out.

"Yikes. Um, why don't you just skip?"

Actual 20-year-old Anna would have considered it. As it stands, 25-year-old Anna has developed a hard work ethic, and she'd be disappointed in herself if she didn't get to the bottom of it. "No. Absolutely not."

"Ugh, fine. Let's see..." There's some rustling coming from Kristoff's end, like he's sitting up in bed. "We get lunch at 2 on Fridays in Moosie's when Elsa's on shift, and you usually get there from your morning classes on East. You're always complaining because you have to walk from...what is it, Lee to Buck to Morris?"

It slowly comes back to her. "Right, Friday morning Econometrics lecture in Lee Hall." She exhales. "Oh my god, thank you. I can't believe you're useful for once."

"What the hell do you mean, for once—"

"Sorry, gotta go. I'll explain later, I swear. Moosie's at 2?"

"Anna, what—"

**

Three classes and one semi-productive visit to the IT office later, Anna finds herself waiting in line at Moosie's Café for a necessary drink and a sandwich. Even though she hasn't been on Arendelle University's campus since graduation, she's surprised at how little time it took to get her bearings. The familiarity had settled into her as soon as she left the apartment, like warmth returning to cold fingers under a heated blanket.

Unfortunately, that same quick familiarity did not apply to the content of her classes. On top of that, apparently she has a midterm next Wednesday, which past-Anna really should have started studying for by now. She wonders how feasible it would be to relearn the material for the entire first third of a semester over the coming weekend. Luckily, she shares two classes with Tiana Maldonia, who's in the same business frat as Anna and also an Econ major, and whose girlfriend Charlotte was Anna's roommate in freshman year. Tiana graciously agreed to do a review session with Anna on Sunday, potentially saving her unprepared ass.

Technically, if this is still a dream, it wouldn't matter if Anna flunked her classes. But with every intake of coffee-roast air and each scratch of fabric against her skin, Anna finds herself believing that it's a dream less and less by the second. 

The person in front of her pays for his order, and Anna all but skips in front of the portly staff member managing the register. "Yoo-hoo, dear," Oaken greets, his mustache expanding with his gentle grin. Oaken is a full-time employee at Arendelle, and he's one of the two reasons why Anna remembers consistently coming to Moosie's for lunch every Monday and Friday. "If it isn't my favorite customer."

"And if it isn't my favorite barista," Anna replies easily. "Don't tell Elsa I said that," she adds in a loud whisper, leaning in conspiratorially. Her eyes dart over to the head of blonde hair at the far end behind the counter, the other of the two reasons why Moosie's was Anna's favorite lunch spot. 

Elsa's head snaps up from the drink she's making. "Hey, I heard that," she says with fake exasperation, a twinkle in her eye. God, it's only been four hours, and Anna has already started to miss her.

"What can I get for you, dear?" Oaken prods, like he knows they'll be here for four more hours if he doesn't say something.

"A turkey sandwich, please. And a medium coffee with cream."

Oaken frowns as he punches in her order. "Hmm. No sugar?"

Anna almost kicks herself. In college, she was notorious for ordering dastardly, cavity-inducing drinks nearly every day. How she managed to stay fit while consuming those sugary monstrosities even as a club athlete evades her. She grits her teeth. "Uh, you know what? Who am I kidding, I'll take my usual drink order."

Oaken's face settles, as if everything is right in the world again. "Of course, dear. One turkey sandwich and an Anna special, please!" he calls over to his team of one.

"Way ahead of you," Elsa calls back, her top half buried in a shelf underneath the counter as she reaches for ingredients. Anna idly wonders why she didn't do this _strike a deal with a talking snowman_ thing earlier.

Elsa meets her at the pick-up counter in record time, gently depositing a carefully wrapped sandwich and a sleeved cup. "One turkey-avocado sandwich and a medium triple caramel mocha for milady," she announces grandiosely.

The hairs on Elsa's crown that have escaped her braid are plastered to her forehead, probably from steam. Anna almost quells the urge to reach out and brush the stray hairs away, but then she remembers that she can now, so she does it, her fingers lingering briefly but reverently against Elsa's temple. "Thank you, kind bearer of drinks."

Elsa smiles impishly at her. "Listen, babe," and Anna should really be used to it by now but she _isn't_ , "I was going to text you about this, but I remembered you were coming here for lunch with Kristoff anyway, so I thought I'd just ask you now. Would you be open to maybe going somewhere tonight? Just us? Not to a party, but somewhere else. "

"Where?"

"It's a secret." A playful wink. "So? What's your call?"

She'd go anywhere with Elsa, she means it. She would have followed Elsa to the ends of the Earth five years ago, and she'd still do it in a heartbeat. "Well, I'd get to spend a whole night with a pretty girl. I think my answer's obvious."

A light shade of pink dusts Elsa's cheeks. "Okay, great. Meet me at 6 on South Quad. Dress warmly." She takes Anna's hand, gives it a quick squeeze, and hurries away to do her job.

Anna picks up her order. She spots Kristoff slouching at a table in a far corner of the café, looking almost the same as he would five years in the future. Maybe his hair is a little longer as a college student, his facial hair scruffier. As Anna weaves her way around the tables, she takes a sip of the mocha, and she immediately remembers why she stopped drinking liquid sugar as she became a proper, boring adult. But she peeks back at the service counter, at Elsa who's diligently coaxing a sandwich out of the oven, and she supposes this is just a taste she'll have to get used to again.


	3. Chapter 3

Kristoff absent-mindedly tears up his coffee sleeve as he processes the information Anna just unloaded on him. It's a habit he's had for as long as she'd known him—they've left tables in dining halls and restaurants with errant pieces of napkins, receipts, leaves from decorative plants. Anna wants to reach out and stop him, but she doesn't.

"So you're telling me," he says, "that you're from five years in the future, and you time-traveled back to the day of your 20th birthday because for some reason in that future you're not talking to Elsa anymore, and you're here to get her back?"

Anna nods. She had caved and told Kristoff everything—well, except for the talking snowman thing and her failing relationship with Hans and the whole reason why she wasn't talking to Elsa in the first place. Okay, maybe not everything. Anna never dealt well with keeping secrets to herself, and she figured if one person was to know about her ridiculous situation, it would be the one constant she still had in her life as a 25-year-old.

"Yeah, are you high or something?"

Anna winces. "Look, I know it sounds a little crazy—"

"A _little_ crazy? This is bonkers! You could be telling me that God opened up the heavens and is giving free membership to the gays, and I'd still believe that more—"

"But! I am one-hundred percent sober and one-hundred percent serious. I don't know how I can prove it to you, but I can try."

Kristoff squints at her. "If you're really from the future, tell me about an event that's supposed to happen, and we'll see if you're right."

Anna wracks her brain. "What is it...2014?" She pauses, and she thinks back to a night in the fall of her junior year, when she received ecstatic phone calls from first Kristoff and then her stepdad back-to-back. She hopes to god that it hasn't been announced yet. "The new _Star Wars_ movie, the seventh one," she says. "It's going to be called _The Force Awakens_."

Kristoff's expression is unreadable. "No, it's going to be called _War of the Jedi_."

Anna gapes at him. Then she realizes. "You have no idea, don't you?"

"Okay, fine. I have no idea. But you better not have, like, a secret uncle working at Lucasfilm or something."

She sighs. "Kristoff, when have I ever lied to you?"

"Uh...all the times you've called me ugly?"

"My point still stands."

Kristoff crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't know, dude, it's gonna take me a while for this to sink in. If what you're saying is true, we could have some real _Days of Future Past_ type shit here, minus the mutants and the cool action sequences."

Right when Anna's about to respond, a certain café employee walks up to their table holding a spray bottle in one hand and a paper towel in the other. She smiles at them sneakily and sprays the table. "Sorry guys, just getting through and doing my job," Elsa says, bending over to wipe the surface. It's an age-old excuse to hang out with her friends when she's on shift. Anna inhales a whiff of rose shampoo and espresso as Elsa's head bobs in front of her face. "Were you guys talking about, what is it, _X-Men_?"

"And _Star Wars_ ," Anna adds quickly. Her eyes dart over to Kristoff's furrowed brow. "...neither of which Elsa has seen."

Kristoff holds her stare, as if he's not ready to put a pin in their previous conversation. Then he sighs and takes the bait. "Elsa, honey, how can you not have seen _Star Wars_? Do you even live in this century?"

***

Afterwards, when Anna's studying in the library and waiting for 6 to roll around, her phone buzzes with a text.

_Kristoff: so what am i like in the future_

_Kristoff: am i super rich and successful_

_Kristoff: are we even still friends in the future_

_Anna: i feel like telling you would break some kind of space-time continuum law or something_

_Kristoff: come on you have to give me something_

_Kristoff: it can only help your case_

_Anna: yeah you're still annoying as ever_

***

The sky is awash with the orange hues of near-sunset when Elsa meets Anna under a tree near the edge of South Quad, where all the engineering and tech buildings are located. Elsa's changed out of her work uniform and into a sensible navy peacoat, blonde wisps flying undone from her braid, the heels of her ankle boots _thonk-thonking_ against the concrete path. Elsa is physically attractive for an undeniable fact, but in the soft light of golden hour Anna finds herself a little dumbfounded at her friend's raw beauty, as if the celestial powers took a knife and carved her out of the glittering landscape itself.

"Hey stranger," Elsa says, when they're close enough to touch. "Ready to go?"

She holds out her hand, and Anna takes it.

***

Elsa leads them to the school's hockey rink south of main campus, where they're having an open skate night for a charity fundraiser. Elsa pays for the entrance fee, so Anna insists on paying for the rental skates, which turn out to be around the same price. It isn't until they've finished lacing up their skates and are waiting to be let into the rink when Anna's intransigent confidence wavers and reveals to her the magnitude of bullshit she's been supporting herself on.

"Elsa," she hisses out the corner of her mouth. "I've never done this before."

Elsa places a hand on Anna's back to steady her wobbling. "Yeah, I kind of figured," she tells her with a small smile. "You'll be okay. Do I look like I would toss you in a pool and leave you to drown?"

"I honestly wouldn't blame you if you did."

They both step out onto the ice, and Anna immediately feels like a newborn deer. She locks her knees in place and hopes to god that she won't fall if she won't move. "Guh."

Elsa catches one of Anna's flailing arms with a bright laugh. She guides them over to a rail on the edge of the rink to clear the path for skaters behind them, her palm steady against Anna's spine. She releases her as soon as Anna grabs the rail, and she glides three feet backward as smoothly as a glass marble rolling over polished floors. She has her hand over her mouth, the way she does when she's trying to suppress her giggles.

"Go ahead, laugh at my misfortune," Anna grumbles, which only makes Elsa laugh harder. "How do you even know how to ice skate anyway, California?"

"Well, you know how my family used to take us skiing in Colorado when I was in middle school?" Anna nods. "There used to be an ice rink there, and my brother and I took a few lessons while my parents were out on the ski trails. After we learned how to move on our own, we would compete to see who could skate to the other end the fastest."

"Did you win?"

"At first I did. Then Jayden started catching up. Once he pushed another kid out of the way and sprained her ankle, so our parents made us stop racing after that."

Anna laughs. It does sound exactly like Elsa's chaotic younger brother.

"All I'm saying," Elsa continues, "is that you can trust me, okay? I may not be winning any Olympic medals for this, but I got you." She offers both her hands, palms up, like she's waiting for a blessing. "We'll take it slow and easy. Just tell me when you're uncomfortable, and we'll stop."

Anna blushes, then kicks herself mentally for the unwarranted innuendoes her brain picks up. She takes a breath. She would have trusted Elsa with her life once upon a time, and she still does, even with all that's happened between them. Anna places her hands in Elsa's grasp and lets herself be tugged away from the enclosure wall. "Promise you won't sprain my ankle?"

"Not on purpose."

Elsa inches them towards the center of the rink, skating backwards as Anna shuffles forwards. Even though Anna is completely out of her element, she feels safe under Elsa's gentle guidance, following her suggestions to _bend your_ _knees_ or _lean into it_. Elsa's grip is sturdy and familiar, her solidness and vitality tangible under the pressure of her fingers, affirming with every squeeze that _this is real this is real this is real_.

Anna clutches onto her like a lifeline. She starts to get the hang of it, and Elsa's strides backward become longer and longer. It's not unlike the time Anna learned how to waltz for a P.E. class in high school, but instead of a sweaty teenage boy her partner is a beautiful 21-year-old woman, whose encouraging smile is engraved on the insides of Anna's eyelids. Their joined hands thrum with energy, pieces of a circuit that have finally been connected.

It's going great for around 10 minutes until they're on the far end of the rink. Someone bumps into Anna's back, and it's not very forceful, but Anna loses her balance and teeters forward all the same. Elsa's hands fly to her shoulders, but it's too late. Both of them topple over with matching squeals.

Elsa lands on her butt and Anna with her knees between Elsa's legs, her right hand braced on the ice next to Elsa's waist and her left latched onto Elsa's coat. Elsa is sitting at not-quite ninety degree angle, still holding Anna up by the shoulders but leaning slightly backwards. Their faces are impossibly close; Anna can see Elsa's dainty eyelashes and feel warm puffs of breath against her face, uneven with surprise. 

And Elsa turns _red_. Blood rushes to her face faster than Anna can follow, scarlet blooming across her cheeks as her eyes widen. "A-are you okay? Are you hurt?" she sputters.

Anna scrambles to her knees and pulls Elsa up by the wrists. "I'm fine. Are you?"

Elsa nods, still blushing. They help each other to their feet, and wow, maybe it does hurt a little bit, once the shock has ebbed away. Anna turns around to give the person who pushed them a piece of her mind, but they're nowhere to be found, disappeared in the crowd of anonymous college students.

Anna huffs. "They're lucky my ankle is un-sprained, or else I'd be asking if they had liability insurance."

Elsa and Anna gaze at each other for a beat— _why is she still so red_ —and burst into laughter.

***

They get dinner at a dimly lit sushi restaurant downtown. Elsa offers to order them sake bombs, but Anna declines, wanting to savor this impossibly perfect night sober. Elsa slips to "the restroom" sometime after they've ordered and before their soups arrive. Anna discovers what she was up to when strobe lights suddenly come on after they've finished their main courses, and what seems like the whole restaurant's staff parades to their table, singing happy birthday and presenting her with a flaming candle stuck in three scoops of green tea ice cream. Elsa ends up being the one embarrassed by the ordeal, mouthing _I didn't know they would do this_ across the table with her shoulders scrunched to her ears. Anna just laughs, clapping along to the off-key chorus with delight.

***

"Ugh, tell me again why I can't have sushi for dinner every day?" Anna asks, even though she knows the answer.

Elsa unlocks the door to their apartment and pushes it open. "Well, number one, we wouldn't be able to afford it. Number two, the fish are contaminated with mercury in the oceans. Wasn't there a guy who got mercury poisoning from eating sushi every day?"

Anna follows her into the apartment. "Once you're an official water engineer or whatchamacallit, can't you just fix it and stop mercury from contaminating the oceans?"

"Yes, babe." Elsa laughs. "I'll personally make sure you can eat as much spicy tuna as your heart desires."

"See, this is why I keep you."

Anna waits until Elsa has hung up her coat. She then steps forward and wraps her arms around Elsa's waist, resting her chin on Elsa's shoulder. Elsa's chest expands and contracts against hers as she returns the hug, and they stand in their kitchen/living room like that for what feels like hours but is really only around half a minute.

"Thank you, Elsa," Anna murmurs. "Tonight was perfect. It was the best birthday I've had in a long time, I mean it."

"You make it sound like it was a date."

"Well, wasn't it?"

Anna's joking, but she feels Elsa stiffen a little in their embrace. She pulls back to find Elsa scrutinizing her, not unlike the way she had this morning. Anna returns the stare, and Elsa loosens with a watery smile. "Oh, please. You're way out of my league."

"Me? Out of your league?" Anna scoffs. "Excuse me, I think it's the other way around."

"Oops, looks like someone's delusional and needs some sleep." Elsa releases her and takes a step towards her own bedroom. "Trust me, babe, anyone would be lucky to have you."

"Anyone who thinks that obviously hasn't met you yet." Anna leans her hip against their dining table, her heart bursting with affection for this girl she's somehow managed to have in her life again. It hurts with how much she's missed this, how much she's missed her. "Good night, babe," she says, finally testing out the term of endearment on her tongue. It's been years since she's called Elsa that, but the syllable tastes familiar, the weight of it proper against her lips.

Elsa's smile now is genuine, resolute. "Good night, Anna. Happy birthday."

***

When Anna enters her bedroom, she finds Olaf sitting on her bed, atop the haphazardly scrunched comforter. She hadn't realized that she left him in Elsa's room this morning in her rush, but Elsa must have transported him to Anna's room for her. Olaf's goofy face reminds Anna that this is all probably a dream—a strangely realistic one, but still a dream. Tomorrow, she'll wake up on her couch in Brooklyn, and she'll have to talk to Hans about their argument, if not in the morning then over text while they're both at work. Tomorrow, she'll return to a reality where Elsa remains lost to her.

She hugs Olaf to her chest and prays it's not all a dream.

***

It's not all a dream.

Anna knows something is up when she wakes to the smell of pancakes or waffles. Hans never cooks a full breakfast—the most he can do is microwave some sausage links. Anna opens her eyes, and she's still in her messy college bedroom in Arendelle, clutching Olaf and drooling on the pillow. _Thank god._ She's really time-traveled five years in the past, and she's sure that makes everything more complicated, but all she can think is _thank god_. 

Someone knocks on the door. "Yeah?" she calls out in response.

To her immense, immense relief, Elsa opens the door and pokes her head through. "Oh good, you're awake. Punzel texted me to remind you about your meet at 11."

Anna blanks. "Meet?"

"You totally forgot, didn't you?"


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday morning tennis meets are just another of the many things Anna had forgotten about her college life. After stuffing all her necessary equipment into a purple gym bag and flying through breakfast (Elsa, bless her, had indeed made them pancakes), Anna's tugging on her tennis shoes at the front door when she notices Elsa slipping on a jacket and zipping up a backpack. Anna shoots her a questioning look.

"I'm coming with you, right?" Elsa says, like she can't imagine doing otherwise. "Or were you just going to leave without me?"

Anna beams at her.

***

Three years of not picking up a tennis racket has taken a marked toll on Anna's performance. Her body and reflexes might be 20 years old, but her mind is five years in the future, trying to backtrack through all the skills she had lost in the interim. That, combined with Anna being a relatively average player even in her prime, causes her to lose her first two matches of the meet. Anna holds in her disappointment each time she misses the ball or hits it out of bounds. No matter how many times she messes up, she still hears Elsa in the stands, yelling herself hoarse with encouragement.

"Winters, what's up with you? You've been out of it," Punzel says to her later, when they're both taking a short break. Punzel is the women's team captain, a senior fine arts major with choppy brown hair and a notoriously powerful backhand. 

"I'm fine...just, you know, hangover," Anna lies, fanning herself. "My birthday was yesterday, and I kinda went all out."

Punzel eyes her. "Right. Happy birthday." She takes a swig from her water bottle. "I don't know, dude. I've seen you play while hungover, and this doesn't look like it."

Anna balks. She opens her mouth to respond, but she suddenly feels a looming, sweaty presence behind her.

"Oh, Anna got piss drunk last night," Kristoff supplies, grinning devilishly. "She drunk-Facetimed me twice, and lemme tell you, it was not a good look. I think it was worse than the time she threw up on your carpet at the social last spring."

Punzel's gaze shifts from Kristoff to Anna. She finally sighs. "Whatever. If we lose this meet because of you, Winters, you owe me chicken nuggets later." She glares at Kristoff. "And who was the one who rubbed her vomit _into_ my carpet last spring, dumbass?" Without waiting for a reply, Punzel picks up her racket and saunters off, presumably to cheer on one of their freshmen.

Anna exhales in relief. She considers Kristoff, who's trying to balance the hilt of his racket on his toe. "Thanks," she says. "You didn't have to do that." She had forgotten, among other things, that she had met her second-closest college friend, the men's team captain, through club tennis.

"You're right, I didn't. That's why you also owe me chicken nuggets, even if we win."

Anna slaps him on the shoulder. At this rate, she'll be owing chicken nuggets to half the team.

***

As per custom, the team's exec board members and a few close friends pile into two cars and hit up McDonald's after the meet. Arendelle ended up losing, so true to her word, Anna finds herself paying for the meals of at least four people. Anna, Elsa, Kristoff, and Punzel climb into one booth while their vice president Mulan, her boyfriend Shang, social chair Meg, and PR chair Quas squeeze into the one behind them.

"I'm literally the treasurer," Anna grumbles, some twenty to thirty dollars poorer. "I know for a fact we have enough funding to cover this."

"You say this every time, but you never do anything about it," Elsa remarks, stealing one of Anna's fries even though she has her own.

"You better not," Punzel says from across the table. "We're traveling to New York next weekend and Connecticut the week after that. If you blow all our money on McDonald's now, where would we sleep? Kristoff's car?"

"My car has state-of-the-art reclining seats and plenty of stuff you could use as a blanket. If you don't wanna sleep in it, then it's your loss."

"Yeah, you might even find a snack on the floor," Punzel retorts.

"See? What's not to love?"

"Okay, but also," Anna interjects, "can we talk about the fact that I won't be able to see Elsa for _two consecutive weekends_?"

"You say that every time too," Elsa mutters, her ears red. She takes a sip from the Oreo McFlurry she's sharing with Anna.

Kristoff shakes his head. "What a tragedy. How will you live."

"Let's be honest here," Punzel says, "you're a mess without Elsa. I had to text her this morning to wake you up. I bet you'd miss all your classes if it wasn't for her."

"Oh come on, I'm a responsible adult." Anna nudges Elsa with her elbow. "Elsa, back me up."

"I don't know." Elsa smiles mischievously and turns towards Punzel and Kristoff. "Take good care of her, guys."

Anna clutches at her heart with a mock-offended expression as Punzel and Kristoff burst out laughing. "You're bullies, every single one of you." Even Elsa begins giggling. "This is child abuse! Just because I'm younger doesn't mean you're allowed to gang up on me like this!"

"Sure, Miss 'I'm a responsible adult'," Kristoff says with a raised eyebrow.

Everyone laughs even harder, but Anna shuts her mouth in silence. Caught up in the comfort and familiarity of the conversation, she had almost forgotten that technically, she's the oldest one at the table.

***

Later in the evening, Anna's washing a carrot in the kitchen sink of their apartment in preparation for dinner. She hears the door to Elsa's bedroom open and close. Within seconds, the smell of rose shampoo materializes to her left, and in her peripheral vision, a slender hand places a mug with a used tea bag on the counter next to the sink.

Anna looks up. She's greeted by the sight of Elsa in her wire-rimmed reading glasses, smiling gently at her. "Babe, what are you doing?" Elsa asks.

"Making dinner. What does it look like I'm doing?" Anna flicks some water at her.

Elsa squeals as she twists away. "Should I be worried?"

Anna pouts. She knows there were several reasons she stuck to baking throughout her college years. While Elsa being more culinarily adept was one of them, Anna's own attempts at cooking truly left something to be desired. She likes to think she's improved since then. "Maybe I'll surprise you."

"Mysterious. Can I help?"

"No, you should sit down and let me do all the work for once. You've been holed up in your room since we came back." 

"Right, I actually wanted to talk to you about that."

Anna pauses in her vegetable washing. "About what?"

Elsa leans against the kitchen counter and takes off her glasses. "Um, you know how earlier today we were talking about not being able to see each other much on the weekends because of you going away for tennis? I was going to say that we probably won't be seeing much of each other anyway for the next few weeks."

Anna hates that her eyes immediately sting with tears. Everything was going so perfectly, and this must be the catch. It feels like she was dropped onto the pinnacle of a mountain, but now the ground is crumbling beneath her feet. "What...what do you mean?" she blubbers.

Elsa blinks. "A-are you crying?"

"No."

"Oh my god, all I mean is that I'm going to be in my room a lot more because grad school applications are due soon. Anna." Elsa reaches behind her for a tissue and folds it into Anna's palm, keeping her fingers wrapped around Anna's fist. "I'm sorry I made you upset. I should have started with that. I'm just really bad at saying things."

Anna wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her other arm, not wanting Elsa to let go. "Whew, you had me worried there. And don't apologize. I think I'm just...emotional." She exhales with a shudder. "I know I've been kinda weird lately, and I think I'm a little overwhelmed."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Anna smiles ruefully. "I don't think it's gonna help, but thank you."

"Okay, just let me know if you do. I'm here for you no matter what, got it?"

Anna almost laughs at the bitter irony of it. She once believed the same thing, years ago. "I'm here for you too," she replies despite it all, because she can't help herself.

Elsa nods. "I know things are probably tough this semester, but once it's all over, we have New York City to look forward to. We'll do all the dumb touristy stuff, and I'll even let you tell me how the East Coast is apparently better than the West Coast."

"It is better than the West Coast. I'll prove it to you," Anna says. She _really_ can't help herself, not when staring into Elsa's kind, unassuming face feels like a second chance.

***

On Sunday, Anna meets up with Tiana in the library to study for Econometrics. If Anna were to describe the Tiana she knew with one word, it would be "shrewd." With an impeccable affinity for memorizing concepts and detecting bullshit, Tiana always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone else, although she did appreciate a good party. Anna would keep in touch with her well after graduation, and as far as she knows, future Tiana is running a successful chain of restaurants around her home state of Louisiana.

The Tiana sitting in front of her now is still a college student, albeit one who is saving Anna's Econometrics grade. They work efficiently, and after an hour Anna has more of a game plan than she did before they started their session.

Eventually, the conversation strays to topics other than the content of their shared classes. "So," Tiana says, "I didn't see you at the Theta party on Friday. You said you would go because it was your birthday, right?"

Anna nods sheepishly. "Yeah, I ended up just doing something chill with my friend Elsa. Have you met Elsa?"

"You asked me that last week." Tiana laughs. "Yes, I think you've introduced us once, at a party sometime ago. What did y’all do for your birthday?"

Anna tells Tiana about how Elsa had surprised her with open skate night, how much fun they had even though Anna had never skated in her life before. She tells her about the sushi restaurant and the strobe lights and the singing staff and the green tea ice cream. 

"Hm," Tiana finally says, after Anna's finished talking about how embarrassed Elsa was. "Sounds romantic."

"W-what?"

"Well, it sounds like something Charlotte and I would do for one of our birthdays. You know, we were also planning on going to open skate night next week."

"I mean, Elsa and I, we're not dating or anything, we're just friends," Anna sputters.

"All I'm saying is," and with this Tiana rests her chin on her hands, "whoever you end up dating in the future, you'd better hope they treat you half as well as Elsa does."

***

Anna thinks about what Tiana said all throughout Sunday, and then through her classes Monday morning. At 1pm on Monday, she finds herself at Moosie's in desperate need of coffee, lunch, and some company.

"Yoohoo," Oaken greets her, a pleased smile on his face. "How is my favorite customer today?"

"Absolutely delighted to see her favorite barista. How are the kids? And the husband?"

"The children, they are growing so fast! Frida started high school this year, and Sofie's soccer team won their district championship. Henrik is building robots at school, and little Emilie just learned how to put on her pants by herself.” Oaken pauses, his beaming pride replaced with a sly expression. “And the husband—well, let me give you a word of advice, dear. Don't marry someone who doesn't clean up after themselves. You may love them, but it is honestly so frustrating."

For the first time in a while, Anna thinks about Hans, who's usually pretty good at keeping things clean, except sometimes when he leaves his beard trimmings in the sink, and maybe also when he leaves his socks on the floor, Then, unwarrantedly, Anna's mind jumps to Elsa, whose room is incredibly organized, if not spotless. It makes her wonder if Elsa is ever bothered by how messy she is. Anna resolves to clean her bedroom as soon as she gets home.

Anna places her order quickly and ducks to the pickup counter, slightly embarrassed. Elsa's working again today, and Anna immediately perks up with she sees that head of blonde hair bobbing through the kitchen space. Elsa, true to her word, had stayed in her room nearly all of Sunday, and while Anna knows Elsa was hard at work, she can't help but feel deprived. Another month of barely seeing Elsa even though they live together seems impossible. Anna watches the care with which Elsa assembles her sandwich; the nimble fingers arranging cucumber slices are the same ones Anna's seen maneuvering a paintbrush or felt stroking her hair.

"Hey stranger," Elsa says when she's done, depositing Anna's order on the counter. "Were you staring at me just now?"

"What can I say, you're a rare sight." Anna smiles cheekily. "Gotta savor it, you know?"

It gets the reaction she wants. Elsa covers her mouth with her hand, hiding a laugh, her face softly pink. "Okay, casanova. When you're done flirting with me, I have a funny story to tell you."

"Oh?"

"So you know how I'm taking chemical kinetics right now? My elective class? Today after lecture, some guy came up to me out of nowhere and asked for my number."

_Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit._ "Whaaat? What was his name?" Anna asks flatly, gnawing with dread on the inside of her lip.

"Hans Nielsen. Do you know him?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh i'm sorry i have no idea how club tennis works TuT


End file.
